tip: bake some bread


Ah, the lost art of bread baking. It’s a chore I was very strictly in the habit of accomplishing a few years ago, but I began to let it drift away from my to-do list and it has become obsolete in this household. Until tonight.

I mean, what’s the big deal, right? Store bought bread tastes just fine. I’m trying to eat less carbs anyway. Who needs all that stress about yeast proofing, dough rising, dishes and crumbs and grubby little vultures watching the timer ready to scarf down the precious loaves hot out of the oven. Why do we need this anachronism? Why should I devote time to milling flour, measuring ingredients, mixing, sponging, rising, baking, cooling when a scant 99 cents buys me bread minus all of this life interruption?

Well, tonight I remembered why. It isn’t interrupting my life. It is my actual life, pain in the ass and everything though it is. And it really isn’t that much hands on work when you own all the right equipment like I do. Washing the dishes is the most time intensive part. I can bake my 5 loaf basic honey wheat recipe with my eyes closed, it’s second nature. I can feel the water temp on the inside of my wrist and know if it will activate the yeast. I can see the fibers of the dough and tell when to stop kneading. I can smell the exact moment when the bread is done without looking at a timer. I know how to do this! And yet I haven’t done it in almost an entire year.

It’s important to me. The way my husband treats me like I’m some kind of witch doctor for being able to produce the staple of life. The way it makes the house smell amazing for hours and hours. The way my modern kitchen becomes more like an old fashioned hearth. A hub. Baking bread makes this more like a home. It helps me keep my hands firmly involved in the way I want my life to be, who I want me to be. I don’t want to be mass produced, preservative laden, and closed with a twisty tie. I want to be fresh. authentic. original. life giving. Just like the home milled, home made bread that I bake. I believe in the power and magic and strength of the concept of “Home”. Thank you my beautiful loaves for reminding me of this.


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